Night Driver

by Marcelle Perks

The Kaiser Medical Institute or body farm left a cut-off hand or parts of a leg out in fenced-off woodland. Trainee forensic anthropologists needed to study how the body looked on day one, day fifty and so on. It was a secret project, and desperately needed bodies: often the body parts would be scavenged by wild animals, so they constantly had to replenish the scenery. It was hard to get them through official means, so a corrupt bureaucrat there forged the death certificates and sorted out all the paperwork.

  It was a joke. They got rid of the body, no questions asked, and got five thousand euros for their trouble. And with no corpse there was no crime. The Institute used only partial corpses, so no one could be identified. His victims might as well have vanished into thin air.

  Funny to think that his urges were providing a useful service.

  No, Hans was good to him: he allowed him to be what he was. And in return Lars treated Hans like a son, gave him everything, did everything. And although, he, Lars, didn’t kill women, didn’t even fancy them, he’d killed Anna when Hans had wanted it done. That was what they had. They were everything to each other. There was something so fine about Hans. Lars had shown him everything, the drug dealing, the killing.

  But his boy, who had him like putty in his hands, was growing up.

  When he pulled into the Institute, it was quiet. Herr Buttgereit was there as usual. He was the operational manager, had the key to everything, and all the paperwork at his fingertips. He walked with a stoop, as if it was all a terrible burden. Nobody could guess his age. Could have been sixty or eighty. White, smooth hair, and a slight bow to his knee, with every movement exaggerated, as if it cost something to use.

  ‘Evening, Stiglegger,’ he said, directing him to the morgue. He winced as he opened the casing and saw the wound on her neck, and the extensive bruising where she’d fallen on the floor. ‘Can’t you be a bit more careful with them?’ he said. ‘Gotta have something for the students to look at.’

  Together they lifted Anna out and put her on to a gurney. Buttgereit cut away her clothes with a pair of scissors and wiped off some of the blood. He used rubbing alcohol and gauze. Despite his age, he was brisk and efficient. He always paid in cash. Lars didn’t know how he got the money. But then he didn’t ask the questions, that was Hans’s job.

  Still, Buttgereit’s next remark threw him. ‘It would be better for all of us if they weren’t quite so dead,’ he said. ‘Just a little bit dead is better.’

  Lars could only laugh. ‘What else should I do with them? Your students want to do a bit of life painting? Where’s the money in that?’ He rubbed his hands nervously together.

  Buttgereit frowned, went to say something and thought better of it. Perhaps he’d had a bit to drink. Not everybody had the balls to do what they did. It must be creepy for him sitting above a morgue. The old man handed over the usual envelope. Lars didn’t have to count it; he knew he wouldn’t be ripped off. What they were doing was so heinous that payment was the least of it.

  Chapter

  Six

  When the very first bird in the garden began singing, it woke Frannie. Like a drunken man slapped out of a coma, she was forced to seek nourishment. Since about week twenty-two of her pregnancy it had been as though she was activated by remote control. Some primitive, profoundly annoying instinct forced her to get up around three a.m., leaving Kurt a duvet-covered blur. With her mouth sand and her mind fog, she hated the bewildering clarity of these dawn reveries. It was the only time she felt awake.

  When she slipped out of bed, she instantly got dressed. It had been building up to this and now she had to do it. She was tired of not being able to drive to get groceries, of endless rows with Kurt. It had been a week since her driving test, and she wanted to get out there. Even though she’d had no further problems with her pregnancy, her husband was still refusing to sit in the car with her.

  If she was going to do it, she had to do it alone. If she dared to go out now, there would be virtually no other cars. It was the inky realm of pre-dawn. Only the owls were out. She laughed. Kurt didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.

  It was easy to imagine it. But when she got outside she was trembling. She’d never even driven Kurt’s car. It was an Audi A4, much bigger than Heinrich’s worn-out Volkswagen. When she was actually sitting inside it, it was like being in a tank. It took ages to adjust the seat so her feet could reach the pedals. She blushed as she started the ignition and the car made its signature chugging noise as she reversed out of the drive.

  The thrust of the car was even: you didn’t have to press hard on the pedal to get a result. Inside the car, she couldn’t be sure she wasn’t driving with the parking light on, so she left the car running, handbrake on, and got out to check the lights. Everything was fine. She got back in, put her seatbelt around her big tummy, turned the car into the road and prowled into the night.

  The headlights nosed the empty street and the freedom made her feel light-headed. Just the slightest depression on the accelerator and – boom – it went like a horse out to win a race. She felt all her angst about the baby and Kurt melt away. It was a joy to be able to go as slow as she liked. She took her time getting the feel of the car, groping for her confidence.

  This was easy. She could drive the way she wanted to. No Heinrich to shout and intervene. There was even the temptation to ignore the usual road signs because there was no one to give way to. She pushed the car towards the next village, Frielingen, a dot of a place built on a bend. Normally she dreaded driving this bit, but the car snaked around the curve like a pro.

  As none of the houses had lights on, it was effectively a blackout. The only thing to focus on was the shape and feel of the road itself, which seemed to become alive as she drove over it. She opened the windows slightly. The night air smelt of long-ago rain.

  She drove in the direction of Garbsen, with open fields each side. The country road was flanked by trees. She was surprised how rough some of the country road stretches were. It was good that she was going slower than the legal limit.

  Her house was close to the B6, one of the trunk roads that sped traffic to Hannover. She’d been on sections of it during her driving lessons, but in the daytime it was hectic and prone to snarls of stop-start traffic, so Heinrich always diverted her off after a few kilometres. It ran parallel to the road she was on now, and she could see the lights of occasional cars flickering by. She hadn’t left civilisation after all. In the distance a Tamoil petrol station stood out in neon blue, as if a gateway to other temptations. It flickered. She felt as though she was eighteen again. She found the rock station Radio 21 and started singing to an old Metallica song.

  Even though there was no one behind her, she indicated to go right and made her way to the traffic lights. If she went straight home she could drive home anonymously in pitch black. But if she turned right then she’d be in the thick of things.

  Ah, what the hell… She moved into the right-hand lane. The traffic light turned green and she was off and away. The overhead orange lights seem to frame her as if she was in a gigantic computer game. In quick succession she blasted through three sets of traffic lights, green all the way.

  This was easy. She dipped her foot down on the pedal and whooped with joy as the car went faster. It was still dark; a big eerie moon was watching. The speed was pure exhilaration. She felt weightless, as if she could drive forever, just eating up the road.

  From the open window, the wind rushed in, making little gasps. Although she’d been the sole driver out, behind her now was the ominous white eye of an advancing headlight. It was going like the clappers. The glare stung her eyes. She tried to drive faster away from it, but the speedometer was already on one hundred and forty. Normally she drove at half that speed.

  The car’s motion was no longer fluid. Every little bump in the road got magnified. Still the driver behind her came nearer. She could hear the familiar gggguughhh whine of the motorcycle’s engine. She moved into the slow lane. Let whoever it was speed off and leave
her an open road.

  In her wing mirror, the profile of an intimidating motorcyclist, all long handlebars and cocked legs, sailed into view. It was the biggest bike she’d ever seen. He sat hunched on the huge metal beast, like an angry wasp about to sting. There was something of the cowboy about the way he gripped the machine. The throbbing engine screamed of an aching sex drive. As he hovered next to her, in the fast lane, the wind began to bludgeon its way through the gap in the window.

  At this speed, if she made one false move, the car would quickly career out of control. She expected him to zoom off into the distance, but he stayed steadfast like a police convoy. Even when she went slower, he kept pace. For about a kilometre they drove in tandem. She couldn’t understand what he was doing. He kept glancing in her direction. The sound of his engine was driving her crazy.

  She should have been scared, but her face was rapt, concentrated. A little smile played around her lips. She became wrapped up in his fury. The roar of his engine was like hunger. When he went faster, she pushed her foot down too. She tried to imagine what it would feel like to be him, exposed on the saddle, with all that wind and night clawing all over him. And underneath, what would he look like? Frannie giggled.

  The motorcyclist looked at her again. It was as if he was trying to communicate, but what? He roared on ahead. The sight of his butt suspended in the air, waggling from side to side, spurred her on. Her foot was nearly down all the way on the accelerator, her whole body getting sucked back by the speed.

  Signs flashed past at a frantic rate. Hannover city was coming up. Unexpectedly, over the next hill, a red traffic light sat waiting, goggle-eyed. Frannie slammed down the brake, but she was going much too fast. The car swerved in a horrendous skid. The stink of burned rubber filled the car. The screech of it hovered like an echo and snapped her out of her exhilaration. She just about kept control, but as she spun to a halt her hands and legs were shaking. How could she have been so insane?

  The motorcyclist, who was already stationary, looked anxiously in her direction. He’d see she was a middle-aged woman and laugh at her folly. The spell was over. She took deep breaths.

  Tat, tat. She jumped. It was the motorcyclist at her window. Through his raised visor she could see neat grey eyes smiling at her. He was young enough to ride recklessly. She wound the window down some.

  ‘You OK?’ he said in German worse than hers.

  ‘Think so,’ she said, rolling her eyes.

  ‘Don’t press brake so hard,’ he said laughing. ‘You make tyres unhappy!’

  ‘Are they OK, do you think?’ she said. She shuddered. What would Kurt say if she couldn’t drive home?

  ‘We go to the Tamoil there,’ he said pointing to the garage up the street. ‘I check.’

  He leapt on his bike and sped off. She followed him more slowly, and within a few minutes they pulled into the petrol station.

  The stink lingered. He was already on one leg examining the tyres before she could get out of the car. She peeked at him.

  With his helmet off he had a young, angular face with solid cheekbones. His dark hair fell all about.

  ‘Brake crusher! Go forward, a little,’ he said, indicating a tiny gap with his hands. ‘I must check the rubber…is it tyre?’ She got out of the car to get a better look at him. His body was strong and lithe. He looked as if he could handle himself.

  ‘Thanks for helping,’ she said, wondering if she should offer to buy him coffee. ‘I’m Frannie, from England. I just got my Führerschein and wanted to go out when it was quiet.’

  He looked pointedly at her bump. ‘You can drive like that in one year’s time. Now…a little bit slower.’ Again, his hands moved. ‘But your wheels are OK.’ He patted the car and stood up, staring at her as if he couldn’t make her out. His hips stood out in sharp relief in his jeans. For a second he hesitated.

  She just stared at him, caught off guard.

  ‘You’re not German?’ she said. It was funny how it was easier to click with other foreigners.

  ‘Nein! I am Tomek from Polski.’ He found it funny she didn’t know his nationality straight away.

  ‘Poland? Are you here on holiday?’ she asked, wondering what he was doing here.

  He pushed a photo of a delicate-looking blonde into her hand. ‘I look for my sister,’ he said, his cute eyes looking desperate, ‘Her name is Anna. She says she has good job here, but then I hear nothing. I come to find her.’ They studied the photo together. ‘Yeah. She says she work for club Moonlights. Do you know it?’ He fixed her with a haunted look in his eyes.

  ‘No.’ Frannie just smiled. They both laughed.

  ‘She has a friend, Dorcas, who works on the Autobahn.’ The way he moved his hands to explain everything was touching.

  ‘Autobahn?’ What did he mean?

  ‘In a minivan,’ he said as if that explained everything. ‘But I cannot find her. Nobody knows anything. When I see you, a woman alone, in the night, I think maybe you know people.’

  His eyes looked lost. He stood there holding the photo as if it was the only thing he had. Frannie smiled. Although he had burst out of the night like a demon, he was alright.

  ‘I hope you find her,’ she said, and meant it. She hugged her arms. Little Susan Timberley in her class had gone missing when she was eight. Frannie knew what it did to families. She didn’t want it to eat away at this young man from the inside. ‘Look, can I help in some way?’ she said pushing her head forward. ‘My German’s not that great, but I can research online, hand out flyers.’

  A look passed between them. His prominent upper lip trembled.

  ‘Thanks,’ he said. She had to lean forward to catch the words. ‘Perhaps you night-drive again tomorrow?’ he said, handing her a hand-written scrap of paper with his mobile number on it. ‘Maybe we can make plan to find my sister. I just have one week. Then my job…I must go back.’ For a second he looked even younger, as if he’d been temporarily puffed up by the noise of his engine.

  Something in his face caught her. She wanted to kick out of this inertia of waiting for the baby to be born. Why drive around aimlessly when she could be doing something useful for someone?

  ‘I also don’t have much time,’ she said, smiling. ‘My baby is due in July.’

  An ugly flood of yolk-yellow streaked the sky. Dawn was rushing into the sky to meet them. It was time to get back before Kurt woke up. She looked at Tomek, at the way the eerie morning light knocked the tension out of his face. She wanted to help, but more than that: she longed to see him again.

  ‘Do you know the Shell garage in Garbsen? The one that’s open twenty-four hours, opposite Burger King on the Bremer Strasse?’ she said carefully, gauging his reaction. ‘I’ll be there at three a.m. tomorrow.’

  ‘OK, done,’ he said, looking at her as if she’d just given him more money than he could ever spend. ‘I have to get a magazine that might have some information. Tomorrow we talk. Thank you, crazy lady.’ Theatrically, he put on his helmet and fastened up his jacket. ‘Now I have to meet a woman who say she know something, maybe, or perhaps she just take my money. Will tell you tomorrow,’ he said, forcing his engine into life.

  The longer she spent with him, the more vivid he seemed. He jumped on to his bike and soared off into the night with an animal roar. Frannie was left standing there breathing in the smell of burnt tyres and petrol fumes. The new day was starting in a testosterone haze. It was hard to take it all in. She had to make sure Kurt didn’t hear one word about this or the fact she’d driven his car.

  It was easy driving home. She didn’t even have to think about it.

  Chapter

  Seven

  Through the window of her minivan, the sun sparkled. So far it had been a lush June filled with many days of hot weather. The heat suited Dorcas. It allowed her to sit in the van in a little silver bikini with the windows wound right down. She knew she was a pretty thing. It was the one thing she could rely on.

  Just scenting the summer breeze put a
smile on her face. She was parked up on a Rastplatz, a popular truck stop, although right at this moment she was not thinking about the cars that might contain customers. She was giving all her attention to the sight of the majestic golden corn that grew in abundance in the fields.

  She liked it here at the service station. It opened up to fertile farmland. Being next to the Autobahn in the middle of nowhere was like being in two places at the same time. The men came in hard, fast cars, with all their angst seeping out of their veins. And she soothed. Whatever it was that itched, she took it away. And, in turn, Hans eased her needs. He gave her lines of coke. You needed something for the boredom, to cope with the smell.

  One day, soon, always soon, he’d told her, he would own the club outright. He’d stop messing around with the other girls. More than anything she wanted to believe they had a future. That his thing for Anna was just a passing phase. Hope was all she had.

  Hans, the manager at Moonlights, had all the girls at his fingertips. One look at his face and he made you believe in him. It was unreal what he could do.

  Her mobile phone beeped. She was on the phone as much as she was working.

  It was Elli again. In between clients, the girls called each other or sent funny texts.

  ‘You know, Anna still hasn’t turned up.’ She stopped to give an excited little laugh. ‘Isn’t that like weird – I mean after what she said about Hans?’

  ‘Oh?’ said Dorcas trying to sound neutral. Anna had got too close to her lover. Technically Dorcas was engaged to him, although that didn’t mean much when there were half-naked women running around the club day and night.

  Dorcas could hear Elli carefully inhaling on a cigarette while she thought about what to say next. They could talk freely about any of the ridiculous things their punters wanted them to do, but they never betrayed any intimate details about Hans. Because he slept with everybody, nobody wanted to talk about it out loud.